


Habits

by noraebangbang



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Language, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noraebangbang/pseuds/noraebangbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, nineteen-year-old prostitute Baekhyun finds himself in possession of one teenage boy named Jongin who refuses to leave him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habits

**Author's Note:**

> This is another [prompt fill!](http://exopromptmeme.livejournal.com/18885.html?thread=8521925#t8521925)

A coldness tears through Byun Baekhyun’s body that would’ve shaken his bones if he weren’t on duty. On duty, he stands stoic. Poised and beautiful. The perfect fantasy of a young boy naive to the harsh realities of the city. It’s what tourists liked, most of the time. Some locals, too. If he looked too familiar with his surroundings, clients rarely paid him notice. It had taken him a few months to figure that one out.

He shifts his weight from his right leg to the left, cigarette hanging limply from his right hand. It did nothing to warm him, and it was really about time he quit, and yet he found himself unable to really let go just yet. Filthy habit, really. Much like everything else in his life.

Winter in the city meant a sharp drop in clientele, with tourists choosing to stay home for various holidays and locals too preoccupied with getting out of the cold to pay him any mind. A few regulars made up the bulk of his business. It was better than nothing.

A puff of air swirls its way out of his mouth, despite the cigarette being unlit. It’s cold. And he wants to _be_ cold, but he can’t afford that. No one pays attention to a prostitute in a parka. His sweater, a deep navy cable-knit number with too-long sleeves and a slowly unraveling hem, sufficed for the first hour, but with the sun starting to hide behind the skyscrapers, the chills come more frequently.

Five more minutes. And if no one stops, he’s definitely going…

Well. Not home. Home is nowhere.

He sighs again and puts the cigarette in his mouth, straightening his posture and trying not to look directly at the man coming his way. Hands in pockets. Hips jutting forward just enough to draw attention to his lower half. Wide eyes circled heavy with liner that makes for an attractive combination with his bleached hair.

The man hustling down the sidewalk gets closer. Closer. And passes him right by.

Fuck.

Baekhyun goes right back to slumping at that and tosses his cigarette into the dirty street. Fuck fuck _fuck._ Five minutes is too long to wait in this cold. Screw it. He’ll duck into the cafe, grab a cheap cup of cocoa, and warm up while he figures out if there’s a couch with his name on it for the night.

Frozen fingers rake messy locks back, and Baekhyun starts down the block toward the cafe. 

The fantasy is naivety, but Baekhyun knows the territory like he knows breathing. He knows there will be a writer at a back table of the cafe alternating between pecking out words and making annoyed faces at her pastry. He knows the crack in the sidewalk outside of his normal loitering spot trips at least six tourists a day during peak summer hours. He knows the butcher shop across the street has a changing of the guard right about this time. And he knows the dance studio, just on the other side of the cafe, lets out students at almost the exact time he reaches the cafe, every single day.

And every day, most of the students pay him no mind. Except one. One who seems fairly standoffish, aloof. Who glances his way now and then as he shuffles past, head bowed and hands in his pockets. This boy is thin like a dancer but Baekhyun wonders how a dancer can have such terrible posture. They’ve never said a word to each other.

So when Baekhyun reaches the cafe this day, right as the students file out of the studio, he finds himself confused by this tanned boy actually looking at him for longer than two seconds. The boy adjusts his dance bag on his shoulder, keeps his plush lips pressed together, steps toward Baekhyun with determination. Baekhyun smiles a little; he looks precious if not a little silly in his knit pom pom hat with such a serious expression.

“Excuse me,” the boy mumbles. He meets Baekhyun’s eyes only for a second before staring back at the gum-stained sidewalk. “Um. Here.” His hand gets stuck in his pocket a moment and he lets out an annoyed grunt before finally freeing his hand, pressing it to Baekhyun’s. “It’s…probably not enough. Sorry. It’s all I have.”

Baekhyun opens his palm to see a couple of crumpled bills. And a piece of candy. This kid is definitely precious.

“Sorry, not open for business to minors.” Baekhyun attempts to hand him the money back, but the boy takes a step back.

“What? N-no, that’s…What?” The boy’s bewildered face just makes Baekhyun laugh to himself. “I wasn’t…I just see you sometimes.”

“A lot of the time.”

“And I thought maybe…you should have a coat. Or at least a jacket. You don’t ever wear a coat and you look cold so I thought…maybe…” He sighs. “Sorry. I’ll go. Sorry. Happy holidays.”

The boy makes it ten steps away before he stops and turns. Baekhyun, hand on the door to the cafe, does nothing more than watch this boy watching him. His feet don’t seem to work to take him into the cafe and out of the stinging cold, which just proves annoying.

“If you could just…” The boy starts out strong before losing some of his bravado. He sighs, then tries again. “Just please don’t use that to buy drugs?”

“Do you think I’m a junkie?” Baekhyun feels a laugh bubbling up into his throat as he lets go of the cafe door to put his hands on his hips. “Do I really look like I spend money on drugs?” He wonders for a moment if this boy was going to cry. “I don’t do drugs. I’ll buy a sandwich. Is that acceptable?”

“You need a coat, though…” The boy’s voice thins out as his face sinks into a frown.

In movies, with gruff protagonists that have walled themselves off to love who find themselves faced with someone they might want to let in, there’s a flicker of something that sets things in motion. A kind gesture. A shared bowl of soup. A meet cute in a dog park. Baekhyun, for a second, wonders if this was one of those situations. He shakes the thought off with a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Thank you for the concern, but I’m fine,” he says. Lying comes second nature to him these days, sometimes to the point where he’s not sure if he’s also lying to himself.

The boy still looks dissatisfied, and Baekhyun sighs.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Kim Jongin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kim Jongin,” Baekhyun says. “I promise I will find a thrift store and try to find a jacket.”

Jongin lifts a corner of his mouth some, still looking fairly upset, but nods and turns to head along his way. Baekhyun finds himself watching him leave, and the cold doesn’t seem quite so bad for a moment.

 

Park Chanyeol lives in the kind of apartment that belongs in a cautionary tale, warning children of the dangers of dropping out of school. Except, he definitely didn’t drop out, and he’s somehow proud of his tiny shit shack. It’s one of Baekhyun’s favorite things about him; he always has a bright outlook even in pitch darkness.

The faucet drips and pings against an unwashed pot in the sink, and Baekhyun turns onto his side to stare out of the window at the plethora of bright signs outside. The apartment overlooks a number of sketchy establishments—triple x shows, twenty-four hour bars, restaurants that almost certainly bribe inspectors just to receive a C-. It’s comforting, in a weird way, to stare out at the people shuffling below and know that he’s not the only person with questionable judgment.

Chanyeol’s text noted that he wouldn’t be in until late, and that there was leftover chicken in the fridge. Baekhyun made short work of that, his first decent meal in a few days, before lying down on the lumpy sofa covered in mystery stains.

He opens his hand to stare at the money from Jongin, then pops the gifted candy into his mouth. There was just over twenty bucks left after his cocoa expense. Definitely not enough for a coat that wouldn’t lose him clients. Nothing too puffy, nothing that would hide his slim figure. Maybe Chanyeol has ideas. Chanyeol’s cat, a sad-looking, scruffy one-eyed tabby they’d found behind a burger place, definitely does not have ideas other than standing atop Baekhyun’s hip and kneading with raspy, plaintive meows.

“Yeah, me too, Meatball,” Baekhyun sighs. He doesn’t flinch at the claws digging in to his skin.

Somehow, despite the claws and the spring in his back and the lack of any kind of actual comfort, Baekhyun nods off. He sleeps as if this awful couch were a high-end king size memory foam bed with 800 thread count sheets. When he opens his eyes again, he sees Chanyeol closing the front door to the studio carefully, with Meatball sitting on the scratched coffee table to try screeching for attention from the taller of his two dads.

“Hi, kid,” Chanyeol says in a hushed tone, picking the cat up and putting him on his shoulder. “You have to be quiet, Nomad Dad is sleeping.”

“No I’m not,” Baekhyun says. He laughs at the shriek Chanyeol lets out, then sits up. “Welcome home, Regular Dad.”

“Sorry, go back to sleep.” Chanyeol makes his way around the back of the couch and pushes Baekhyun’s hair back off of his forehead as he passes.

At some point, Baekhyun will thank Chanyeol for…well, basically everything. Most pressing is the need to thank him for giving him a spare key with zero stipulations, letting him stash his relatively few belongings in boxes stacked in a corner. Chanyeol was a far better friend to him than he was to Chanyeol, and that probably deserved some kind of thanks, too.

“How was work?” Baekhyun asks as he leans hoists himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. He smiles as Meatball stands atop Chanyeol’s head, watching intently as Chanyeol works the can opener for Meatball’s evening meal.

“It was amazing,” Chanyeol says. “This guy came in and handed me a giant bag of money, and I’ll never have to work a day again in my life. And also I bought an island. How was your…”

Baekhyun felt a little guilty with how uncomfortable his current means of getting money made Chanyeol. He smiles. “It was also amazing,” he says. “I was gifted a Lamborghini and an entire apartment building so we’re moving!”

“Excellent,” Chanyeol nods as he stoops to dump the wet food into Meatball’s bowl. “Test drive in the morning?”

“Absolutely,” Baekhyun nods. He swings his legs. “Actually, I did get a gift. This kid gave me twenty-five bucks.”

The stillness from Chanyeol makes Baekhyun slightly nervous. He knows Chanyeol would never judge him, not aloud. But sometimes, when he mentions anything about what he does, he catches a glimpse of something in Chanyeol. Flecks of sadness in his eyes. Tension creeping into his frame. A tightening of his jaw. Without seeing Chanyeol’s face, Baekhyun knows there’s a frown there.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Baekhyun says. “He’s definitely a high schooler. He wanted me to buy a coat.”

“Did you?”

Baekhyun laughs shortly. “How am I going to buy a coat for so little money?”

There’s no answer, although Baekhyun knows Chanyeol has plenty more he’d like to say. Their relationship hinges on Chanyeol knowing when to keep his mouth shut, and over the course of the last five years, he’s figured it out fairly well. The wrong word at the wrong time meant Baekhyun ignoring him for a stretch, and that’s the last thing Chanyeol really wants.

“Anyway, I thought it was cute,” Baekhyun shrugs. “He seemed nervous. One of those dance kids. The darker one with the lips.”

“The starer,” Chanyeol recalls.

“Right. So. I guess I could at least pretend to find a coat. Or I could just give you the money as the shittiest amount of rent ever.”

Chanyeol crosses the studio in what Baekhyun assumes is only about three steps, heading toward his bedroom setup. It’s not much more than a few futon mattresses stacked and a shit ton of pillows, but it’s certainly better than the sad sofa. He does what he can to not stare at Chanyeol undressing.

“Keep your money,” Chanyeol yawns. “We’ll find you a coat. My treat.”

“Yeollie…”

“Nope. If you’re going to be standing around like that, the least you can do is try not to die of hypothermia. Please.”

Their eyes meet, and Chanyeol puts on a giant fake grin just to make Baekhyun laugh. Baekhyun attempts to avoid the inevitable, but winds up chuckling anyway as he hops off the counter. He steps his socked feet onto Chanyeol’s, hugging the taller boy’s waist tightly and resting his head against his chest to wait for Chanyeol’s long arms to envelop him.

It never crossed a line into anything more than friends, which was both baffling and comforting, but Baekhyun still craved these lengthy bear hugs. Everything else routinely fell apart, but not Chanyeol. He was a constant, a rock, and Baekhyun knows that will never change. He breathes in Chanyeol’s too-minty cologne and the wisps of fry grease and barbecue sauce from his shift at the restaurant and it feels like home.

“I’m gonna shower,” Chanyeol says quietly. “Lay down. Go to bed. Tomorrow, we’ll get you a coat for Christmas.”

 

 

The next time Baekhyun sees Jongin, three days before Christmas, he’s outfitted himself in a thin, albeit warm, navy pea coat. Chanyeol had attempted to insist on something thicker and warmer, and maybe some mittens and a hat, but it fell on the deafest of ears as Baekhyun chose form over function in the hopes of not cutting into his profits.

Jongin walks out of the studio last, as he almost always does, and looks as if he’d go seeking out a bar fight, but once he notices Baekhyun, his expression softens. They smile at each other, and Baekhyun dips his head slightly. It’s not quite a thank you, but it’s as close as Baekhyun lets himself get.

It is not, however, an invitation to be approached, and yet here Jongin comes, floating down the sidewalk as if the act of walking is just another dance for him, too. Baekhyun sighs and braces himself for the oncoming conversation.

“That wasn’t twenty-five dollars,” Jongin says once he reaches Baekhyun.

“A friend paid the difference,” Baekhyun says. Concern drapes over Jongin’s face. “An actual friend. That’s not some kind of whore code.”

“Don’t,” Jongin resumes his frown.

“…Don’t?”

“Don’t call yourself that.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. “But…you have to know that’s what I am, right? I mean I don’t think you’re stupid.”  
Jongin shifts some, furrowing his brow more and glancing around. Baekhyun wonders if he’s looking for cops or something. “I know it is but it just sounds bad,” he says.

“It _is_ bad, kid. You should go home. Get outta the cold.” Jongin does not accept the dismissal. His eyes still look teary, and Baekhyun starts to think maybe that’s just their natural state—giant and kind of sad. He sighs. “Don’t you have something better to do? Friends to hang out with?” The little pom pom on Jongin’s hat shakes with his no. “Well surely you have homework.”

“School’s been out all week. It’s Christmas,” Jongin points out.

“Okay, then I just want you to go away.”

It doesn’t feel like the truth. Not totally, anyway. If it were the truth, then he wouldn’t have lingered in his usual spot waiting for the studio’s class to let out just so this kid can see the new coat. He squashes that bit of logic, though, and dismisses Jongin with a turn as he heads toward the cafe. The crunching of shoes on snow follows behind him.

The cashier behind the counter and even the writer at the far table both look momentarily confused as Jongin sits with Baekhyun, and Baekhyun offers a slight shrug to them. This boy invading his space isn’t part of the routine and it shakes things out of the normal flow. Instead of cocoa, Baekhyun orders tea for them both.

“You really should go home,” he says as Jongin reads the decoupaged tabletop. Pages from long out of print novels cover the tables, though most of the customers don’t pay much attention to it; Jongin, in contrast, tries to piece together a novel from the discarded pages.

“I don’t want to,” Jongin says absently, still focused on reading.

“Well, I want you to.”

“It’s a free country.”

Baekhyun tightens his mouth and sits on a rant about that being a ridiculous, childish phrase. Instead, he leans forward and stretches his arms across the table to block the view of the pages. Jongin’s attention lifts. He stares as if this were some kind of personal attack, and Baekhyun finds himself starting to smile.

“Why did you give me that money?” he asks.

“I told you, you looked cold—”

“No, but _why_ did you give it to me? You’ve never said anything to me. Or acknowledged me being there. So why now?”

Jongin’s broad shoulders shrug, his mouth turning down a hair. The urge to push the boy’s hair back almost overtakes Baekhyun, but he leans away again to ignore it.

“You look lonely sometimes,” he says. “I guess I can relate to that. And it’s Christmas so I thought I could do something nice.”

The tea proves a nice distraction from actually feeling anything revolving around appreciation for this kid and his earnest face. “Well…thank you. I’m not lonely.” This lie definitely feels like a lie. “Anyway, where are your friends? You must have some. Other dancers?”

“They don’t like me all that much,” he says. “I don’t like them either so it’s fine.”

“Why don’t they like you?”

Jongin shrugs again. “They think I’m a showoff. I get a lot of attention. It’s not my fault I work harder. So they don’t talk to me outside of class. Or in class, really. It’s fine.”

“You just said that,” Baekhyun says. “Doesn’t sound very fine. Especially if you’re opting to talk to a wh—” It was much easier to call himself a whore when Jongin wasn’t staring at him looking sad. “Someone like me. Honestly, people are dicks. All of them. They’re jealous dicks who hate others that are better than them.”

“You’re not a dick,” Jongin says.

“I’m probably the biggest dick you’ll meet,” Baekhyun shakes his head. “You should find a friend, though. At least one. It’s helpful.”

“I’m trying.”

Baekhyun almost praises him, until he realizes the implications there. He laughs and waves his hands. “No, not me,” he says. “We’re not friends. We’re not going to be friends. I mean a friend your own age.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen but that doesn’t matter. I’m telling you—”

“You’re really nineteen?” The shock in Jongin’s voice dings Baekhyun’s ego.

“Yes I’m nineteen, don’t I look it?” he snips.

Jongin’s eyes sink back down to the pages on the table. “Not really,” he switches back to his mumbling. “You look older. Like…the makeup and the sadness. It makes you look older.”

It isn’t exactly an insult, but it still doesn’t feel particularly good, either. Neither of them speaks for a stretch, and Baekhyun considers just getting up and leaving. His ass remains planted in the seat, though, alternating between frowning at the tea and glaring at the top of Jongin’s head as the boy resumes reading the table.

Sometimes, Baekhyun comes across regulars out in the world, living their lives. On a trip to a park with Chanyeol once, he’d seen Tuesday 10:30 pushing his daughter on a swing. He walked right past him, several times. Even sat down on a nearby swing to watch them. Tuesday 10:30 didn’t recognize him at all. Maybe the makeup does make him look completely different.

“Well. Anyway. I guess I’ll see you again after Christmas,” Baekhyun says. “I hope you have a nice holiday.”

“I won’t,” Jongin says.

“Isn’t your family doing something nice?” Jongin shakes his head. “Oh. Well…” Baekhyun’s heart, which rarely ever has any kind of input in matters, decides to take over. “Would you like to come to a party?”

 

 

It’s less a party, really, and more just their usual little group convened at Chanyeol’s shitty apartment, drinking and being merry together to celebrate a holiday that most of them normally hate. The reasons are different for each of them, but for the past four years, it had been nice to sort of remember that things don’t always have to be terrible. Or at least forget that they definitely usually _are_ terrible.

Baekhyun sits in Kyungsoo’s lap, laughing as he watches Chanyeol and Yixing pantomiming along with the Christmas music blasting through Chanyeol’s tiny bluetooth speaker. Several mugs of cider into the evening and Chanyeol’s wooden spoon microphone has somehow become the funniest thing in the entire universe to Baekhyun. With Chanyeol taking the lower notes and Yixing pretending to screech the higher, Baekhyun can hardly catch his breath.

The shrill buzz of the doorbell turns Baekhyun’s laugh into a shriek, which then just becomes laughter again at how ridiculous it is to scream because of the doorbell.

“I got it!” Yixing shouts, sliding his way across the floor in his candy cane socks. He pulls open the door and stares. “Hi?”

“Hi…”

Baekhyun’s attention piques. He leans over and spots Jongin, standing there with a few gift bags and that damn pom pom hat.

“Hey!” Baekhyun calls out. “Hey. That’s the kid.”

“Oh, hi,” Yixing says with much less confusion this time. He scoots aside and gestures for Jongin to come in.

Jongin looks as if he’d somehow walked in on an orgy or some other thing he’s not meant to see. Baekhyun can’t help but smile as the boy tries to not actually focus on any of them. He stands awkwardly near the front door, gift bags in front of him and rocking on his heels.

“Guys, this is Jongin,” Baekhyun says. He gives Jongin a reassuring smile. “He’s a dancer.”

“Here, give me your coat,” Yixing says with his hand outstretched. Jongin hesitates, but slides out of his hat and coat anyway.

“Jongin, that’s Yixing, we found him in the woods,” Baekhyun jokes. “That tall freak’s Chanyeol, he lives here and is generally terrible. And this one,” he pats Kyungsoo’s head, “is Kyungsoo and he’s probably a serial killer.”

Jongin’s wide eyes blink a few times before he manages to form a polite smile. “Hello,” he says quietly.

“He’s smaller than I thought he’d be,” Chanyeol says. “You want a drink, kid?”

“I’m not—”

“You can’t give him alcohol, he’s underage,” Baekhyun says.

Chanyeol stares. “ _You’re_ underage. _I’m_ underage. Come on now.” He scoffs and pours some cider for Jongin, holding it out to him. “It’s not poison, I swear.”

Jongin, for a moment, doesn’t seem to believe that. But eventually, curiosity wins out, and he takes a sip of the cider.

“You can sit wherever,” Chanyeol offers as he turns the music down some. “Do you…?” He gestures toward Jongin’s bags.

“Oh. I…I brought gifts,” Jongin says. “I’m sorry. It’s not really anything special, I just—”

“Present!” Chanyeol yells. “Hey hey, we get presents!”

“Who has presents?” Yixing asks as he returns from hanging Jongin’s coat. Chanyeol holds out a bag to him. “Oh, thank you, Chongmin!”

“Jongin,” Jongin says quietly.

Baekhyun stands with a groan, stretching his limbs before offering Kyungsoo a hand up to go check out Jongin’s gift. This kid, who had zero obligation to do so, took the time to make ornaments for them and packaged them with homemade marshmallows. The salmon ribbon adds a nice touch and matches the deep chocolate of the gift bags and the marshmallows well. That whole awful heart situation tugs at Baekhyun again as he stares at his sparkly ornament, outfitted with a B.

He sighs some, then slings an arm around Jongin’s neck to drag him closer into something like a hug while definitely not tearing up.

“Really, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo sighs from nearby.

“What?” Chanyeol’s voice is muffled, and without even looking, Baekhyun is certain he’s crammed every last one of his marshmallows into his mouth already.

It takes a few hours, and several more mugs of cider, before Jongin loosens up enough to actually speak to the others. He discusses dance with Yixing, showing him some ballet positions in exchange for Yixing teaching him more contemporary moves. He argues with Chanyeol about some phone game that Baekhyun has never heard of. He throws himself into a conversation with Kyungsoo about a new horror book they’d both read, and Baekhyun could swear he can see hearts swimming in the boy’s eyes.

By three in the morning, Jongin is drunk and Baekhyun is sobered up and somehow Chanyeol and Yixing are making out on his sofa, which everyone knows they’ll regret once the cider wears off. Baekhyun sighs a little and lays another card down on top of the pile in between the three of them.

“We should really just pool money and rent a place with actual bedrooms so we don’t have to listen to this,” he says.

“Yes, pool all of the money we don’t have,” Kyungsoo nods while taking his turn. Draw two. Jongin lets out something that’s somewhere in between a screech and a laugh.

“Dammit, I’m never going to win,” he says as he slides two cards into his hand. He manages to show every single card he has in the process, and Baekhyun and Kyungsoo exchange amused smiles.

“We probably should’ve cut the kid off,” Kyungsoo says, though it’s almost overshadowed by a particularly loud moan from Yixing.

“Probably, and yet here we are.” Baekhyun wills himself to focus on his cards and not turn around to see whatever filthiness is happening behind him. He glances to Jongin, who is definitely not looking away. “Hey. Kid. Maybe we should take you home?”

Jongin doesn’t answer. Baekhyun sighs and waves a hand in front of the boy’s face.

“Jongin. Kim Jongin. _Helloooo_?”

“Huh?”

“Home. You go?”

After a few heavy-lidded blinks, Jongin shakes his head. “No, my mom doesn’t expect me home,” he says, although it takes him some time to string the words together.

Stuck overnight with a high schooler. Precisely the way Baekhyun intended to spend his Christmas. He sighs a little, then decides not to really push the matter considering how sad the kid looks about possibly having to leave. Or maybe it’s just his standard drunk face. Whatever it is, he’s fixed it right back onto Chanyeol and Yixing.

“Okay, I think maybe we oughta put the kid to bed,” Baekhyun sighs, standing.

“How did I get roped into babysitting?” Kyungsoo complains.

“Because the others are indisposed, shut up and help.”

“No, no, I’m not tired,” Jongin complains as the older two pull him to his feet. He peers around Kyungsoo to get a better look at Chanyeol and Yixing on the couch.

“Okay, I absolutely did not sign up to handle teenage boners,” Kyungsoo groans.

Baekhyun shushes him as they start to help Jongin toward the bed. There’s a moment of bickering, and a few dry heaves, before they manage to get Jongin settled and comfy in the center of Chanyeol’s large bed. The moans from the couch steadily pick up pace, and Baekhyun considers tossing a pillow to calm them down. Before he can, Jongin turns toward him, snuggling closer. The boy rests his hand against Baekhyun’s neck, his weight pressed up against the older one. Baekhyun stiffens for a moment, trying to decide what to do, though Jongin attempts to decide for him.

The kiss is soft and unsure, with way too much tongue and apple aftertaste. Baekhyun leans away after a few seconds.

“Okay, kid, goodnight,” he laughs quietly as he slides Jongin’s hand away.

Jongin opens his eyes and, in the stream of moonlight bathing the bed, looks rather distraught about the rejection. Instead of complaining, he turns over and faces Kyungsoo instead, his head coming to rest against Kyungsoo’s shoulder. Baekhyun sighs, covering his face with his hands to suppress a frustrated scream at just about the time Yixing cries out on the couch.

 

 

Christmas morning is still. Silent, aside from the gentle, steady rumble of Meatball purring by Baekhyun’s head. Almost a bit sad.

Baekhyun reaches for his pants to grab his phone and check the time. 9:42. The others likely won’t stir for another hour or so, but he’s used to only barely sleeping. His head rolls in the other direction to look at Jongin. The boy looks a bit worried in his sleep, barely frowning with a small wrinkle above his brows. At some point, he’d gone askew, his upper body leaned closer to Baekhyun and his legs stretched toward Kyungsoo. Baekhyun stares up at the ceiling to cull the smile trying to form.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns his head again to see Jongin looking back at him, a night of drinking veiled on his face.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Baekhyun says in nearly a whisper.

“I think I kissed you…” Jongin’s frown deepens.

“It happens,” Baekhyun shrugs. “Things get crazy when rum is involved.”

For a moment, he thinks the boy drifted back to sleep, but when he looks, Jongin is simply staring at the ceiling as well.

“…You okay?”

“How did it start?” Jongin asks. “I mean. How did…you start…y’know…”

It annoyed Baekhyun how cute this kid turned out to be. “You mean how did I start fucking people for money? I know, don’t say it like that, whatever.” He sighs, turns onto his side and rests his head against his bicep. “I left home when I was fifteen. My stepdad…was really fucking terrible. So I ran. And I wound up here, and I lived with a guy for a while, which…I don’t recommend doing, living with a grown man as a kid, but I was really fucked up and I guess I went from one shitty situation straight to another. So I left that eventually, with Chanyeol’s help, stayed in shelters for a while…And when I needed money, I just started charging for something I’d probably do for free anyway considering I’m kind of a slut.”

“I don’t think you are,” Jongin says, and the way he looks at Baekhyun almost makes him believe it.

“You’re sweet,” Baekhyun smiles some. “Anyway one thing led to another, and now here I am. Using my only marketable skill. Basically homeless. Giant disappointment.”

“Why don’t you just live here with Chanyeol?”

Somehow, the question coming from someone that isn’t Chanyeol makes answering that much harder. Baekhyun exhales heavily, searching his brain for some excuse that sounds plausible.

“I think if I were to move in here, things would get weird,” he admits. “I think…I think our relationship needs that space or we’d tumble into something else, and then I’d wind up hurting him, and I don’t want that at all.”

“You’re in love with him?”

“I don’t know,” Baekhyun says. “I think I could be. But I don’t want to even try. I’m not a good person, Jongin.”

Jongin’s full lips shift into a sad little smile. “I think you are,” he says. And it’s almost believable again.

Baekhyun gives his head a small shake and avoids Jongin’s kind eyes by staring at Chanyeol’s sheets. “So, why wouldn’t your mother expect you home on Christmas?” he asks.

“She’s sort of dead,” Jongin says. “I mean. She’s really dead. And my dad doesn’t care, he doesn’t really like me. I don’t really like him.”

“Jesus Christ…” Baekhyun sighs heavily. “Well…Stay as long as you want, then. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jongin shrugs. Baekhyun wants to strike _fine_ from his vocabulary. “Thank you…for letting me hang out with you guys. I had fun.”

“You don’t even remember it all,” Baekhyun teases, and Jongin smiles wider. “And anyway, you’re welcome to hang out anytime. I’m sure Kyungsoo will enjoy it.”

“Stop talking about me,” Kyungsoo moans from the other side of the bed. Jongin and Baekhyun share a quiet laugh as Kyungsoo curls up to go back to sleep.

“Can I ask you something?” Jongin doesn’t really wait for an answer. “Are you gay?”

“…What? Um. I dunno, I never really thought to decide on a label,” Baekhyun says. “I guess I just…like who I like.”

Jongin nods, though something behind his eyes clearly isn’t quite satisfied by that.

“Why? Do you think maybe you’re gay?”

“Maybe…I don’t know,” Jongin says. “My dad thinks I am. Everyone in my dance class thinks I am. Everyone at school…”

“Is that why you kissed me?” Baekhyun guesses.

“No…I thought maybe you wanted me,” Jongin mumbles. “Like Chanyeol and Yixing.”

Baekhyun considers laughing at how cute this kid is, but figures that would be a pretty significant knock to his esteem. Instead, he smiles and reaches to pat Jongin’s head.

“Maybe in a couple of years,” he says.

Jongin blushes but seems to accept this answer well enough. “What about…” He thinks for a moment before mouthing _Kyungsoo_ , and Baekhyun laughs before mouthing back _gay_. Jongin’s grin practically triples.

 

 

When the new year rolls around, Baekhyun realizes it’s like Jongin had been part of their group all along. The others find themselves enjoying having a younger brother type to dote on, considering he winds up coming by Chanyeol’s apartment daily. And Baekhyun, much as he hates to admit it, has grown rather fond of the boy as well. He doesn’t complain when Jongin uses his back like a bed while he’s playing cards with Yixing. He hardly bats an eye at sharing the couch space with him. It’s as if Jongin is a limb and it happens so quickly, he’s almost a little afraid of it.

By the start of summer, none of them can really remember a time before Jongin. So gathering at his graduation feels like the most normal thing in the world. Baekhyun’s stomach twisting nervously as he stares at Jongin in his school uniform is totally normal. He feels like the boy’s mother.

And then he feels a twinge of guilt there, knowing Jongin’s mother can’t be here, knowing that his father probably forgot. He sighs and shifts in place, adjusting the bouquet in his arms and crinkling the cellophane loudly.

“Stop fidgeting,” Kyungsoo hisses. He leans closer to Baekhyun to keep from disturbing the parents and other guests around them, and Baekhyun glares momentarily before stilling.

He wants to make a comment about how nervous Kyungsoo looks, too, but is rudely interrupted from doing so by the loudspeaker overhead. He stares at the person speaking for a moment before going back to watching Jongin, bored and keeping to himself. The boy stands as instructed, and Chanyeol takes the opportunity to let out a loud whistle to draw Jongin’s attention.

It makes Baekhyun feel a little sad that Jongin looks so startled to see them there, as if he’d expected to go through graduation alone. And maybe he had. Once the shock wears off, he smiles slightly, brings a hand up in a half-assed wave, and moves on along with his classmates. Chanyeol, overly excited, reaches across Yixing to start smacking Baekhyun’s shoulder as Jongin’s name is called. And when Jongin looks up at them again, they all stand and cheer loudly enough that his cheeks darken in embarrassment. It’s the least they can do as his friends, Baekhyun thinks.

One of Jongin’s classmates invites him to a graduation party later in the evening, and Baekhyun quietly tries to encourage Jongin to go. The boy is cute, and seems rather shy, and probably spent the whole ceremony working up the nerve to ask. And Jongin declines. When they’re alone in Baekhyun’s car, Baekhyun looks over to Jongin, almost completely obscured by his bouquet.

“Why didn’t you want to go?” he asks as he waits for the other cars to get out of the way so he can back out.

“I want to celebrate with you,” Jongin says.

Baekhyun smiles a little. “But you should make friends your own age,” he says. “And I think he liked you.”

“I don’t care,” Jongin says, shrugging. “I like you.”

“No, Jongin, I mean… _Like_ like.”

“Oh.” It seems to take Jongin a moment to process that. “Well, then, I like Kyungsoo. And you.”

“Oh.”

“But you like Chanyeol,” Jongin continues. “And Chanyeol likes you. So you should be with him. And I’m out of high school now so maybe Kyungsoo won’t feel so weird kissing me.”

“When did—”

“I think, for my graduation present, you have to do whatever I say for today,” Jongin says.

Baekhyun’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “What do you have in mind?” he asks.

“I think you should quit the…job,” Jongin says. “And I think you should move in with Chanyeol. I mean, really move in.”

“I bought you a tablet,” Baekhyun says. “You’ll accept that and be happy.”

 

 

 

“Did you kiss him?”

It’s two hours into Jongin’s graduation celebration, and Baekhyun jabs a slender finger into Kyungsoo’s shoulder at the accusation. Kyungsoo stares back at him, all eyes and feigned innocence. He gives a small smile.

“Kiss who?” he asks.

“Don’t,” Baekhyun sighs. “Kyungsoo. Don’t kiss the high schooler.”

“He kissed me,” Kyungsoo says. “And I told him to stop. And when did you turn into his mother?”

“I don’t know and that’s why I’m angry!” Baekhyun sighs, slides his hands down his cheeks warmed by whiskey. “Look. I love you, a lot, but please don’t hurt him. Please.”

“Gross, you care about him,” Kyungsoo teases. “When did you grow feelings for anyone that isn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Baekhyun shoves him some and looks to Jongin for a moment. The boy is busy playing a tennis game with Chanyeol and Yixing, all of them ridiculously uncoordinated and laughing at their failures, at Chanyeol accidentally whacking Yixing in the forehead on a back swing. “Ugh feelings are stupid. Just please be nice.”

“I’m going to tell everyone that you actually care,” Kyungsoo says, which just earns him a whack on the head. He laughs and hits Baekhyun back, and they swat at each other for a while before Baekhyun brings him into a sort of headlock, drawing him close and kissing his head.

“Please don’t hurt him,” he mutters against Kyungsoo’s hair.

“I heard you the first time,” Kyungsoo groans.

Eventually, the food and the booze and the joy get to be too much and they drop off rather quickly, first Jongin and then Yixing and Kyungsoo, and Baekhyun finds himself outfitting them with blankets and pillows in a way that feels weirdly domestic. He glances to Chanyeol, still in a video game trance as he tries—and fails—to get through another level of his newest game.

Baekhyun sighs some and walks closer to him, sits down beside him. Chanyeol’s eyes dart over before returning to the screen. Somehow, this kid managed to squirm his way in and infect Baekhyun with all sorts of ideas—about family, about love, about home. He smiles slightly, then texts Tuesday 10:30 to cancel indefinitely before leaning against Chanyeol’s arm with a contented sigh.


End file.
